


Repeat Offender

by handcuffedhale (fizzingweaselbee)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingweaselbee/pseuds/handcuffedhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a crackling sound before his dad’s voice came on. “Actually, I’ve got a nineteen year old kid in the back; I’m running him down to the station.”</p><p>-</p><p>AKA the one where Derek is a repeat offender and Stiles keeps running into him at the station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat Offender

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat inspired by [this post](http://handcuffedhale.tumblr.com/post/80486742637/christmasbarakat-my-dad-is-a-cop-and-i-just), but pretty much takes off on a tangent soon after.

Stiles called his dad as soon as the steak went into the oven.

“Hey, Dad, your lean meat’s cooking, should I turn the heat way down?” he asked, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he sliced green beans.

There was a crackling sound before his dad’s voice came on. “Actually, I’ve got a nineteen year old kid in the back; I’m running him down to the station.”

“Is he cute?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of pepper. His dad laughed. “Because I can totally bring your dinner down, if you think it’s going to take a while.” There’s another laugh in the background, deeper than his dad’s, and Stiles bit the inside of his mouth because of course he’s on speaker in the cruiser.

His dad cleared his throat. His voice was muffled when he next spoke, and Stiles temporarily put the phone down. “My son wants to know if you’re cute.”

“Uh, I want to say yes, sir,” the guy replied, and all Stiles could hear was his dad laughing down the phone when he picked it back up.

He waited for his dad to stop wheezing before speaking. “You really shouldn’t laugh and drive,” he said. “What’s the point of the healthy food if you just wrap the cruiser around a tree?”

“To be honest, son, that sounds more pleasant that your ‘lean meat’. Although it does look like Derek’s going to take a while, so maybe you should bring the food over here?” Stiles heard a snort in the background – Derek apparently found their exchange amusing – and was distracted as he replied in the affirmative, putting the phone down just in time to turn the heat down on the pot of vegetables.

**

He waved to the woman working at the desk and she smiled back. Everyone at the station knew Stiles; he’d spent a good portion of his childhood at the reception desk after his mother’s death, and since the age of fourteen he’d roped nearly everyone into keeping his dad healthy.

His dad still said that Health Class was the worst thing education could’ve provided.

“Hey Camden!” Stiles grinned at the deputy sitting in the desk directly opposite his dad’s office – they both knew about Stiles’ crush on the green eyed cop, and Camden good-naturedly rebuffed all of Stiles’ efforts. “Fancy some coffee?” Stiles asked cheerily.

The deputy smiled, shaking his head. “The machine here’s just fine, Stiles. Maybe after you’ve gone to college.”

“I’m hurt that you think I’ll be available after college. People will eat me up, and you’ll bemoan that you missed a chance with this.” He gestured to himself, only just righting the plate filled with his dad’s dinner.

He winked as he backed into the Sheriff’s office, wincing at the slam of the door on the wall. “I brought your dinner, and if you can get through it without pulling a face, there’s Ben and Jerry’s,” Stiles waited until his dad’s face lit up before he finished the sentence. “Frozen yoghurt, obviously. Gotta watch that cholesterol.” The look of disappointment on his dad’s face made him laugh, and it was only then that Stiles noticed the other person in the room. “Uh, hi.” He looked at the man, taking in the sharp cheekbones, pale green eyes and stubble. “Nineteen?” Was the next thing out of his mouth, and he coloured, but the guy – who must’ve been Derek – just raised an eyebrow.

“This is Derek Hale, he was speeding,” Stiles’ dad supplied, and Stiles frowned.

He looked between Derek and his dad. “And you thought you’d take him to the station instead of giving him a ticket and a cuff around the head because…?”

“He was on Argent land, and the eldest daughter – Kate – she’s got a restraining order.”

Stiles sighed. “Too good to be true,” he muttered, earning a wry smile from his dad. “I’m gonna go bug Camden, have fun.”

“Actually, I’ve got to go dig out some paperwork. Keep him company.” The Sherriff stood, brushing what looked conspicuously like doughnut crumbs off of his jacket before leaving.

Stiles waited until he’d disappeared before turning to Derek. “Was he eating doughnuts?”

The surprise on Derek’s face was comical – his eyebrows moved halfway up his forehead, and there was a beat before he rolled his eyes.

“Dude, I know you don’t have to talk, but this is the least incriminating topic conversation ever. Plus, I won’t tell my dad.” Derek remained silent, and Stiles sighed, jumping to sit on the desk, righting the stack of paper he’d knocked over. “You were much more talkative in the cruiser, huh?” Stiles asked, and if it weren’t for the twitch of Derek’s lips, Stiles would’ve thought the guy was deaf. “You’re not going to go to jail, if that makes you feel better. Probably a caution, and a fine, and you might have to write a letter of apology to the Argents, but that’ll be it. You can stop with the worried expression and the impressive eyebrows.”

Derek snorted. “Impressive?” he asked, and Stiles grinned.

“If I could convey that much emotion with two pretty useless strips of hair above my eyes, I’d go into acting.” He paused. “I’d be in those really terrible action movies which are pretty much explosions, semi-naked chicks and over-acting.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good acting career to go into.” Derek spoke like it pained him to get the words out, but Stiles would take anything over three syllables as encouragement, not in the least because he wanted to hear the gravelly, partially amused voice again.

He shrugged, worrying the skin around his thumbnail with his teeth. “It’s probably the easiest to get into – all you need is muscle and an ability to butcher comically bad lines. Maybe, instead of petty crime, that could be an avenue you explore.” He nodded his head like he was serious, and was rewarded with an exasperated sigh and a roll of Derek’s eyes. “You are spectacularly difficult to make conversation with – has anyone told you that?”

“Most people are too intimidated.” Was all the answer he got in response, and Stiles moved his hands so he was sitting on them, swinging his long legs as he surveyed the room. “And yes.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow (something he’d spent an entire summer perfecting) “Pardon?”

Derek mirrored the expression, his mouth curled up into a small smirk. “Yes, your dad was eating doughnuts. Don’t tell him I told you, I’m assuming he’s more amiable when full of real food.”

“It is real food! Real, healthy, life prolonging food! We can’t all look like bodybuilders naturally, okay?” Stiles replied, probably a little too heatedly judging by the bemusement in Derek’s eyes.

After a second, Derek’s face broke into a full smile, and Stiles felt something drop in his stomach. “Real food is steak from an animal, not protein manufactured in a lab.”  
“Of course you’re a meat-lover; you’ve got the canines of a wolf,” Stiles muttered, earning a grin that was more a baring of teeth than an expression of happiness. “Yes, thank you for that demonstration.”

It was at that point that the Sheriff returned, files in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Figured you’d need it,” he said, offering it to Derek, whose expression had returned to slightly wary at his presence. He took the cup nonetheless, and Stiles breathed in the smell of the coffee he was banned from drinking. “I’m going to let you off with a fine and a caution this time alright, Derek, but only because I don’t really understand the grounds for the restraining order in the first place.” Stiles had long gotten used to his dad’s honesty – it had made things easier in a house with just the two of them, and it apparently worked in his job too, because Derek’s entire posture became more open. “I’d recommend a letter of apology, but don’t trip over yourself to get it done.” He handed Derek a form to sign, and the room was quiet as Derek scrawled his signature. “You need a lift back home?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, and Derek shrugged.

“If it’s not too much trouble?”

Stiles’ dad smiled. “It’ll be Stiles driving you, I’m afraid, I’ve got to finish filing this crap. Just let his babble wash over you, he doesn’t need much encouragement.” He ruffled Stiles’ hair as he said it, and Stiles ducked away, glaring at his dad before turning to smile at Derek, tips of his ears red.

“That’s fine. Thank you,” Derek replied, answering the Sheriff’s question but looking at Stiles.

**

“Uh, you’re gonna have to tell me where you live?” His voice raised, unsure of how to behave with a criminal (a slight exaggeration, but it’s easier than thinking of him as the cute guy his dad arrested and is now sitting in the passenger seat).

Derek cleared his throat, and Stiles realised he might be a little at odds too. “My Camaro’s at the lock up…”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to wait to get that back, buddy. So, where to?” Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the way Derek’s jaw tightened before answering.

He let out a sigh. “There’s a block of apartments on the other side of town – used to be a factory but they converted it about a year ago.”

“I know the ones. You live there?” Stiles asked, eyes darting from the road ahead to glance at Derek, who seemed resolute in his return to monosyllables.

“Yes.”

Stiles let out a huff of breath, leaning over to switch on a classic rock radio station. He was half-singing along to some ACDC when he noticed Derek staring, and he felt a flush working its way up his neck. “Sorry, it’s hard not to sing along.”

“I notice – you seemed particularly fond of singing the guitar solos.” There’s an edge of amusement in his voice, and when Stiles looked over at him, his lips were curled up into a small smile.

Stiles shrugged, swallowing down the feeling in his throat that he’d like to kiss that smile off of his face. “Go hard or go home; applies to baseball and music.”

“You play baseball?” Derek seemed genuinely surprised, and Stiles unconsciously bristled.

“Lacrosse, actually.” Mostly as a benchwarmer, but Derek didn’t need to know that. “Tried out last year and figured that it’s slightly more controlled than being beat up in the corridors.” The weird look he got from Derek brought him back to the reality where he and Derek only met half an hour ago, and that he’s not driving him home after a date. “But you definitely didn’t need to know that. What do you play?”

Derek regarded him quietly for a moment, and Stiles shifted, the silence broken only by the murmurs of Black Sabbath in the background. “I used to play basketball and lacrosse.” Stiles nodded – the bulk and height made sense. “I got a sports’ scholarship, actually.” That brought Stiles up short, because Derek didn’t seem the type to share information with anybody.

“Really? Where?”

Derek grimaced. “Berkley. My parents were so pissed when I rejected it.” Stiles knew hardly anyone else would’ve noticed the tiny crack over the words ‘my parents’, but he was attuned to it because it’s exactly how he sounded whenever he said ‘mom’.

“Did you end up going anywhere else?” Stiles asked, question deliberately open-ended.

Derek shook his head and raised one shoulder in a shrug, a gesture so ambiguous that the car lapsed into silence except for Derek instructing which parking lot to turn into.

“Thank you for the lift.” He sounded oddly formal, leaning into the Jeep, and Stiles kept his eyes away from where Derek’s Henley gaped forward.  
Instead, Stiles gave him a thumbs up and a wink. “No problem, try to avoid becoming a repeat-crime statistic!” The look Derek gave him was a mix of confusion and annoyance, so Stiles grinned a little too wide, waiting until Derek stepped away before driving off, berating himself for the stupidity of the final comment the entire way home.

**

Stiles was sat opposite Camden, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he studied the chessboard. They’d had a quiet couple of weeks at the station, so Stiles had ended up there more often after school, playing chess with Camden, poker with Smith and Go Fish with Linda, the receptionist.

The quiet was interrupted by Stiles dad returning, not with coffee, but with a slightly annoyed looking Derek. Stiles paused mid-triumph after his checkmate to watch the pair enter the Sheriff’s office, the uncomfortable hunch of Derek’s shoulders speaking volumes.

Stiles waited fifteen minutes before his tapping annoyed Camden too much, and he knocked on the office door before pushing it open.

“I’m probably going to head out to buy lunch, you want anything?” His dad opened his mouth, but Stiles talked over him. “By anything, I mean anything you could feed to a herbivore and not do too much damage.”

Stiles deliberately ignored the obvious presence of Derek Hale, at least until his dad finished his order. “You eaten yet?” It was directed at Derek, who looked up from his intense study of his hands to shake his head. “Tell him what you want, there’s a store about five minutes from here.”

Stiles was just about to open his mouth to protest his new position as food mule when his dad levelled a glare at him. “Yeah, I’ll get you whatever. I promise I’ll try to find things not grown in labs, although that’ll be pretty impossible because of the lack of agricultural land being put to use for actual agriculture.”

“Any sandwich with chicken in is fine, thank you.” The crisp politeness was still present from the last meeting, and Stiles nodded before ducking back out with a promise of returning in five minutes.

When he did, the pair looked up somewhat guiltily, and Stiles made a mental note to check his dad’s drawers for food again.

“You’ve got some chocolate.” He pointed at the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on Derek as the older man wiped at the edges of a guilty smile. “Here’s your sandwich; here’s your salad.” Derek snorted as he opened the bag he’d been handed, pulling out a sandwich with possibly every type of meat on offer.

“Did you buy the meat aisle?” He asked, studying the sandwich warily.

Stiles shrugged, swallowing the mouthful of curly fries his dad was eyeing jealously. “You said you wanted chicken,” he replied with a grin that erred on the side of smirking, watching as Derek bit into the sandwich. “Congratulations, you’re eating heart disease,” he said, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“And it has never tasted so good,” Derek retorted with an amused glint in his eyes, and the Sheriff did his best to fade into the background as Derek and Stiles started arguing (again) about the values of a vegetarian diet.

An hour passed before the Sheriff cleared his throat to interrupt the heated debate of Batman vs Iron Man. “Uh, those forms are printed off for you, Derek. Obviously, you know you shouldn’t graffiti, pretend I lectured you and you’re suitably cowed, yeah?” He sounded tired, and Stiles gave him a quick once over, worry settling between his eyebrows and forming a crease.

“Thank you, sir. Sorry.” Derek did look repentant as he signed another set of forms.

“You think you can get back to your car without breaking and entering or petty theft?” Derek smiled at the joke, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Because if not, I can make Stiles drive you home again. Maybe I’ll ride around in your car for a bit…”

“Isn’t joyriding illegal, sir?” Stiles let out a surprised laugh, but reined it in when both Derek and his father turned to him, each with an eyebrow raised.

The Sheriff shook his head, a reluctant smile usually reserved for Stiles on his lips. “Get out, Derek, before I think you should entertain the holding cells with your humour.”

“Yes sir.” Derek straightened, pausing at the door. “Thank you for the lunch.” The last part was directed at Stiles, who smiled in acknowledgement.

“Next time, it’ll be veggie,” Stiles called after Derek’s retreating back, and Camden shook his head, his chair falling back onto all four legs when Stiles flipped him off.

“Next time?” Stiles’ dad asked, and Stiles shrugged, busying himself with the paperweight on his desk.

“Repeat crime statistics, Dad. I warned him not to become one.” He sighed heavily. “These kids with their speeding and their graffiti.”

The Sheriff pushed Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles’ serious expression broke down into a smile. “Go bother Mrs McCall,” he instructed, and Stiles saluted him.

“You can call her Melissa, Dad; you’ve reached that stage of your crush now.” He dodged the rejected curly fry thrown at him, nodding at Camden as he left.

**

“Remember when I told you not to become a statistic? Did you not hear, or is this you rebelling against my obvious moral authority?” It was the fourth time Derek had come into the station; the second Stiles had had to drive him home. “The speeding and trespassing thing I kinda get – not wanting to be caught where you’re not meant to be, that’s cool. The wolf graffiti, not legal, but looked great for the couple of hours until my dad made you clean it off. I guess you technically didn’t break into the apartment, because it belongs to your uncle, but that wasn’t a good idea. But thievery? Really? You live in an awesome loft conversion thing; you don’t need to steal shit.”

Stiles was breathing heavily by the time he’d finished his rant, and had he been paying more attention he would’ve noticed when Derek ducked to avoid a flailing arm gesticulating his point. “You don’t have moral authority.” Stiles turned his head to stare confusedly at the older man, fingers tapping the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green.

“You know, Derek, I think I might do, just a little,” he replied, grabbing the half-empty milkshake sitting between them and biting down on the straw in what felt like triumph.

Derek shrugged. “Your restraining order says differently.” Stiles nearly choked on the overly-sweet mouthful, and he glared across at Derek’s serene smile. “The light’s green,” he continued with a small smile, and Stiles pulled a face.

“I’m never leaving you alone with my dad again. Why did he tell you that? He’s not getting anything remotely unhealthy for years, I’m telling you. And wipe that shit-eating grin off of your face, Mr repeat offender, I may be immoral but you are further along the spectrum than I am. I prevented myself from becoming a statistic.”

Derek snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’ve messed with several murder investigations.”

“Helped! I was helping,” Stiles squawked. “And there were never any charges or anything so that doesn’t count.”

Derek merely shrugged, a smirk firmly fixed on his lips, and Stiles watched him scratch along the edge of his stubble before snapping his eyes back to the road, his tongue wetting his lips as he switched on the radio.

It’s only when they’d nearly reached Derek’s apartment block that Stiles realised the gravelly voice was coming from the man next to him and not the radio.

“Be good,” Stiles called out of window. “Or at least don’t get caught!” Derek flipped him off, and Stiles rolled his eyes before pulling away.

**

“Jaywalking!”

“Definitely got the wrong room, I’m Derek, we’ve met several times before. Did someone hit you on the head?”

Stiles frowned. “Haha, very funny Derek, I’m so glad you found your wit underneath all the brooding eyebrows and stubble.”

“Surprisingly enough, most of the times I’ve been around you it hasn’t been in humour-conducing circumstances,” Derek replied, apparently so at ease with the Sheriff’s office that he felt comfortable rocking back on his chair, feet pressed against the base of the desk.

Stiles exhaled heavily, deliberately kicking at Derek’s legs as he sat down. “Well, maybe you should stop getting arrested and just behave like a normal human being and ask for my number.” It’s a joke, but Stiles felt like he’d gotten the tone wrong, and so hurried to continue talking. “I mean, you’ve been in here about 6 times in the past month, plus three times in the two months before that. All for things so small that you can’t get properly arrested. Do you have a job, or is this how you spend your days?”

“I’m an interior designer,” Derek deadpanned, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him before digging in his bag and throwing a sandwich at him – Derek opened it and smiled at the familiar sight of too much meat, the same sandwich as the first time. “I didn’t go to college, so I’m taking an online course.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “And what, you decided to fill the hours with petty crime?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” Derek replied seriously, dropping his chair back onto all fours when the door opened, revealing an exasperated Sheriff Stilinski.

“You, out,” he barked at Stiles, who winced, eyes darting to Derek’s, a slight raise of his eyebrows and apology. “You, start talking.” The words were muffled by the closed door, but Stiles dragged a chair over from Camden’s desk to listen, and he only just moved it back when the door opened, a sheepish Derek and a thin-lipped Sheriff exiting.

**

The next two weeks were a flurry of activity, with the murder of a high school student occupying all of the police department’s time. Derek had, apparently, taken the Sheriff’s lecture to heart, because he hadn’t shown up again for so much as littering, and Stiles was beginning to wonder if he’d moved away.

He was waiting for Scott to catch up, running being a new regimen Coach had imparted on the lacrosse team, when he next saw Derek. He was running the opposite way, hair flattened to his forehead, clad only in basketball shorts.

“Is public indecency the next item on the list?” Stiles asked as Derek passed, and the older man stopped, pulling out his earbud. The sound of Elvis buzzed in the air before Derek paused the music, cocking his head in confusion. “I said… never mind, it was a terrible joke.” Stiles rubbed his hand over his face.

“I assumed so,” Derek replied. “I didn’t know you ran?”

Stiles sighed. “Apparently, getting tackled for two hours twice a week isn’t enough – we have to run at least once a week too. Except Scott’s asthmatic, so running’s not his forte.”

Derek nodded, familiar enough with Scott from the conversations they’d had in the Sheriff’s office.

“I wouldn’t pin lacrosse as a sport oriented towards asthmatics,” Derek agreed. “Or any sport, really.”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe really intense bingo. Or bowling, bowling can’t be too strenuous.”

“I can imagine you’d find some way to injure yourself, what with slippery surfaces and heavy objects.” Derek lips curled into the half-smile that made Stiles’ legs feel a little wobbly, but Stiles masked the feeling with sarcasm.

“When did we reach the bullying stage of this relationship? I much preferred you monosyllabic.” He waved at Scott, who walked up to the pair. “Scott, this is Derek. Derek, Scott.”

Scott leant forward, hands on his knees as he sucked in a breath before straightening, eyes flicking between the two. “Repeat offender Derek?”

“Asthmatic Scott?” Derek retorted, and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Scott smiled.

“Something like that. I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand, which Derek took with a wary glance at Stiles, who had schooled his features into his best innocent look.

Derek narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but smiled at Scott regardless. “Don’t believe anything he says, he thinks we should all be veggie,” Derek replied sombrely, grinning when Stiles smacked him in the arm.

Stiles winced, shaking his hand before poking Derek’s bicep. “Jesus, are you made of rocks? That fucking hurt!”

“Slippery surfaces and heavy objects, Stiles.” Was all Derek said in reply, the small smile still on his lips as he put his music back in, waving goodbye.

**

“Derek, please tell me you didn’t get arrested again?” Not that there was any other explanation for Derek’s presence in his father’s office, but Stiles asked regardless.  
Derek shrugged. “Drunk and disorderly,” Stiles’ dad said from the doorway. “Got a call from the Argents at two in the morning complaining about a drunk man yelling at their house. We found him and a half empty bottle of whiskey. Not the first bottle, apparently.” That explained Derek’s dishevelled experience, and the odd smell. Sleeping in the holding cell had taken away the attractively ruffled state of Derek’s hair and left it messy; his eyes were a little bloodshot. “They’re not pressing charges, because they understand, but the next time it happens Kate Argent will definitely take you to court.” The Sheriff’s voice was softer than Stiles expected. “Derek, I need verbal confirmation that you understand.”

“I understand.” His voice was croaky, and Stiles remained silent in the corner of the office, hoping they’d forgotten about him.

He almost succeeded in blending into the wall behind him when his dad turned to him. “Drive Derek home. Make sure he gets to his apartment and into bed.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, so Stiles nodded, dropping the bag of food on the desk and leaving, knowing Derek would follow.

“You okay?” Stiles asked once they were in the Jeep, and Derek grunted in reply. “Oh, excellent. I wasn’t actually serious about the syllable thing; you’re nicer when speaking in sentences.” The silence was heavy, and Stiles swallowed loudly. “I’ve been very nice, I haven’t researched you once. If you knew me well, you’d understand how big that is! But I figure that we’re friends, sort of, so you’ll tell me this kind of crap. Like why you live alone at the age of nineteen, and how you can afford to live where you do, and why you commit all these stupid crimes when you’re clearly intelligent.” The silence continued to stretch between them until Derek reached over and switched on the radio, loud enough that if Stiles wanted to be heard he’d have to shout.

He sat in silence instead, locking the Jeep behind him when he climbed out after Derek.

“I got orders, I gotta make sure you get in the door and to bed. Or to shower,” Stiles snapped, and Derek harrumphed.

The elevator journey was charged, and Stiles tapped his foot as they ascended in silence. “Dude.” The word slipped out when Derek pulled open the door to his apartment, and Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “Awesome.”

His reaction gained a reluctant chuckle from Derek, and Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, mouth slightly tilted up at the edges. “Can I verify that you’re going to shower, eat, and then sleep?” Derek nodded, and Stiles slapped his hand against his leg awkwardly before turning to leave.

“Thank you.” Stiles looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “For not prying.” Stiles lifted one shoulder in response.

When he got home, his dad told him about the Hale fire, and even though he hadn’t sought the information out, Stiles felt guilty all the same.

**

“I’m going to stab you with this pen.” Derek looked up from the magazine he was reading, startled by the murderous expression on Stiles’ face as he brandished his weapon.  
Derek looked from the pen to Stiles’ face quizzically. “I think unprovoked assault in the Sheriff’s office isn’t the best idea,” he replied quietly.

“Have you looked at your criminal record recently? Because I have, and let me tell you, future employers are not going to be impressed! I can’t get a job with one tiny misunderstanding resulting in a restraining order, how are you planning on getting a job after your.” He quickly counted, “eleventh offense?”

Derek sighed. “I’m not here because I got arrested, Stiles.”

“Are you- what?” Stiles frowned. “Why else would you be here?”

Derek rubbed his hand over his face, placing the magazine to one side. “I’m here to apologise for my behaviour last week. I wasn’t in a great place, emotionally, and I’m sorry.” It looked like the admission pained him, but Stiles wasn’t going to let that faze him.

“Gee, thanks for clearing that up, I feel much better now.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk, a technique he’d picked up from his dad. “Try again.”

Derek glared up at Stiles, fingers pulling at his leather jacket sleeves which were a little too long for his arms, and Stiles got caught up in that detail before dragging his eyes back to Derek’s face. “I hate you for this,” Derek ground out, and Stiles nodded, now sporting a slightly (only slightly) sadistic smile. Derek’s cheeks puffed out as he let out another sigh. “My family died in a fire exactly three years ago, and it was the Argent’s fault because Kate left the fucking stove on in the apartment below ours. Everyone but me, my sister and my uncle died. The Argents are all alive and fine. Are you happy?”

“Extremely. Want to get lunch?” Stiles pushed himself off of the desk he’d been leaning on, offering Derek his hand. When Derek eyed it suspiciously, Stiles sighed. “Unless you’d rather have a deep conversation about your feelings and stuff. I mean, I could tell you how much I hate that you lost your family all at once, and how I can kind of relate because I lost my mom, except that they’re hardly in the same realm of grief and I’m really fucking sorry for you. Is that preferable?”

Derek stared levelly at him for a second, and Stiles shifted. “Thank you. But if you think we’re getting anything except burgers, you’re deluded.”

“As long as there are curly fries, I honestly couldn’t care less,” Stiles retorted, and Derek shoved him lightly, catching his wrist before he careened into a woman carrying the tallest stack of files Stiles had ever seen.

**

They ordered cheese burgers and curly fries and strawberry milkshakes, sliding into the booth in the corner.

“You gotta try it!” Stiles insisted, holding out a fry dipped in milkshake. “It’s gross, but in a really nice way.”

Derek pushed Stiles’ hand away, mouth turned down in disgust. “Don’t go into advertising, Stiles, because that’s not how to sell something.”

Stiles widened his eyes into his best impression of Scott’s puppy face, sticking out his bottom lip for good measure. “For me, Derek?”

Surprisingly, Derek acquiesced, grumbling as he leant forward and bit the fry still held between Stiles’ fingers. His face contorted as he chewed, and Stiles watched the myriad of expressions in fascination.

“Why is this good?” Derek asked once he’d finished, pulling Stiles’ milkshake into the middle of the table and delving into the fries between them, dunking one in the drink. Stiles watched as Derek ate it whole, eyes caught on the way he sucked on his thumb to rid it of a drop of milkshake.

“It’s so bad it’s good? Like B-movies,” Stiles replied, hoping his voice didn’t catch too obviously.

Derek smiled. “Or like the shitty action movies you told me to star in?”

Stiles nodded, slurping the remains of his drink, mouth still wrapped around the straw when he replied. “Which I still cannot believe you haven’t seen! Your movie knowledge is severely lacking.”

“Bring some films over and we can watch them,” Derek replied, his tone casual, but he was tapping his foot against Stiles’ leg as he asked.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?” he asked carefully, because despite his obvious crush on Derek, the older man had done nothing obvious to indicate reciprocating it.

“You’re an annoying ass who I don’t mind talking to, and who makes me laugh. You figure it out,” Derek responded moodily, and Stiles let out a laugh that was half nervous and half relieved. “What?”

Stiles shook his head, still smiling broadly. “Your eyebrows have gone from menacing to hilarious. I’ll never take you seriously again.” He paused. “And you better have electricity, because it didn’t look like it, and it’s pretty hard to watch movies without electricity.” His leg bumped against Derek’s as he said it, and he smiled when Derek met his eyes, the older man responding with a shy smile that looked out of place with the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

**

“I brought action and horror movies, all of which are terrifically horrible. The action ones are funnier, and the horror movies are more just pure exasperation because, really, going into the woods after you’ve heard the scream of your now definitely dead friend, at night, with no cell? You deserve to be murdered.” Stiles opened his mouth to continue, but instead Derek leant in, pressing a brief, warm kiss to his slightly parted lips. “Um,” Stiles said, eyes fixed on Derek’s lips as he stepped back, cheeks flushed.

“We probably have time for all of them?” Derek suggested, ushering Stiles onto the sofa.

“Yep, definitely, sure,” Stiles replied, handing over the stack of DVDs and eyeing Derek’s ass as he bent down.

When Derek sat back on the sofa, Stiles moved over so that their sides were pressed against each other from foot to shoulder. “Me and my friends have a drinking game based solely on this movie. Every time there’s an unnecessary explosion, or out of place shouting.”

Derek hummed in response, and the first time a car exploded, he turned to kiss Stiles again, hands moving to his waist as Stiles reached up to cradle his jaw, rubbing his thumb over the stubble on his chin.


End file.
